


Yuuri, my love,

by writingpenguin



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Epistolary, Established Relationship, M/M, Romance, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 18:37:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12870618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingpenguin/pseuds/writingpenguin
Summary: How can I convince you of the constancy of my love with mere ink as opposed to the touch of your skin against mine?(or: When conflicting competition schedules force Yuuri and Victor apart, Victor writes letters.)





	Yuuri, my love,

**Author's Note:**

> This work was beta-ed by the lovely [xylophones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xylophones/pseuds/xylophones/works). :)

**one** —on the cover of the envelope is a distinctive scrawl, half-elegant and half-rushed: “only to be read after you’ve landed in Osaka”

 

Yuuri, my dearest and most wonderful heart, 

How was your flight? I hope you have actually managed to catch some sleep this time and have not just re-immersed yourself into—and I am quoting you quoting Phichit—the life-giving fountain that is the source of classic memes and popular culture, which means to say: were you watching American movies again? I think he mentioned Mean Girls? You haven’t gotten much rest, have you? I don’t understand why you insist on flying coach if you feel so uncomfortable. We can afford more, and I honestly wish you would allow me to spoil you more, as you deserve, my love.

By the time you read this, it will have been at least sixteen hours since I’ll have last seen you—sixteen hours since I’ll have last told you that I love you. It will barely be a day, but indulge me. You are currently in the kitchen making dinner as I am writing this, Yuuri, and I can hardly restrain myself from going to you right now to maybe taste the tangy saltiness of  _ dashi _ on your lips, but I must. I must because though you are still here, I can already feel the not-so-distant future of me missing you. So here this is. A letter of my affections to you. (I can also already imagine you reminding me of the wonders of modern technology, but don’t tease me, darling; once again, indulge me.)

Ah, are you smiling yet? I should hope so. I’m hoping to see that smile soon, солнышко, during both later at dinner when you sit unknowing of what I am planning for you and for when you arrive in your hotel, when I will have to settle for admiring my fiance through only the inadequate rendering of pixels on a computer screen—do not forget to video call me!  

I am digressing. You are almost done cooking, and I have yet to write what is most important—I have too much to write to you, Yuuri. But first, please know that I am nothing more than a phone call away, withering on the cold ice of our home as you claim another gold for your country. (No, do not disagree with me, my love. While the rest of the Japanese skaters do have potential, none can come close to the level you are competing at. If there should be one thing that you will not win in, it is this argument.) You have to promise to call me whenever you need me, Yuuri. You know I will always be glad to hear your voice. If you start to miss me—and I’m not ashamed to admit that I’d be very happy if you do—then read these words once more because I promise to be very thorough in expressing my love for you. If you’re feeling particularly anxious about anything—and I pray that you do not—then read these words all the same. Know that I believe in you and that I will support and be proud of you no matter the outcome, no matter what you think will happen. I am with you always, Yuuri. Do not doubt these words. Never doubt them.  

Words. Although I’m insisting that you read them, I find that I have difficulty in fitting all that I mean to say to you with simply words. How do I convey the warmth of an embrace or the fondness of a smile on paper? How can I convince you of the constancy of my love with mere ink as opposed to the touch of your skin against mine? 

I find that the answer is trust, Yuuri. Trust the memories that you share with me, with your family, and with all those you love. Trust that we will always meet halfway. Trust that I believe in you as much as you believe in me, and everything will be alright. 

This is a reminder, my love. я тебя люблю. We love you so very much, but ah, I must end this letter here. You are calling me to the kitchen now, and I am ever so impatient to see your smiling face.

 

* * *

 

 

**two** —a silk gold ribbon ties the note together with a small bag of peanuts: “to be read the night before your short program”

 

Yuuri, золотце моё,

This morning, when you were out jogging with Makkachin, I took off my ring to wash my hands. My darling, I’m sure that by now you’ve noticed that I am a mostly meticulous person. You don’t consistently win gold medals unless you direct some attention to detail, after all. But: details, details. Once, you told me that you learned the triple axel by watching my 2006 Olympic free skate religiously, every spare moment and every night for two months. You waited, you watched, and you learned. Isn’t that right, my dear?

It is the same for me.

My Yuuri, for the past year, my attention has been solely dedicated to you. In Hasetsu, in Beijing, in Moscow, in Barcelona, and finally, here in St. Petersburg. In all of these places, I have watched you, and I have learned you: how your cheeks flush whenever you hear praise that you do not think you deserve, how you smile with your eyes crinkling shut when you’re truly and ever-so-presently happy, how your eyes narrow and your brows furrow when you worry. This might sound greedy of me, but I want them. I want to learn more and more everyday.

When I observed you before—first, as your coach; and second, as your lover—I noticed that you were often nervous. I worried when you worried, Yuuri. (I still do.) I wanted to drive your fears away. I wanted to see you happy, bright with laughter, like that night in the banquet when you literally came waltzing into my life, with brazen confidence that soon transformed into a tango, a flamenco, a public poledancing show. Солнышко, it took me a very long time to understand that anxiety wasn’t something that I could just will away. During the Cup of China, in the parking lot, I panicked, and I broke your heart. I’m sorry. In Barcelona, that night before your short program, you insisted on looking for that bag of peanuts, and I couldn’t understand why. We argued then, and even if that was just a brief moment, let me tell you that I am sorry for it. I just wanted you to relax, my dear. I wanted to see you skate freely, with little to weigh you down. But I still had—have—a lot to learn from you, Yuuri.

You never fail to surprise me.

Yuuri. Yuuri. Yuuri. If there is anything that I am sure of, it is that neither of us are perfect. But Barcelona was special, my darling, and those precious moments; when you bought our rings, when you whispered your proposal on the steps of the Sagrada Familia, when your fingers trembled with the feel of gold on mine; can certainly come close.  

This morning, when you were out jogging with Makkachin, I took off my ring to wash my hands. I always wear my ring; I hardly take it off, золотце. Perhaps, that is why I’ve only noticed now what I’m sure you’ve known from the beginning. I am a mostly meticulous person, but here you are surprising me again. Half a snowflake. Two halves of a whole.  

We are not perfect, Yuuri. We will always have a bag of nuts to lose, and there will always be another argument, another misunderstanding. But what do we call all that is on the ice, my love? You have always expressed yourself best through skating, so my words to you now will be the same as they were in that night in Barcelona. Tomorrow, show me the skating that you can honestly say you liked best. Skate the program the way you want to, and I will do the same.

 

Unrepentantly, and always with love—  

 

* * *

__

**three—** the stationery is plain, simply knotted by a single silver ribbon: “to be read the night before your free skate”

 

勝生 勇利,

Marry me.

 

 

* * *

 

**four—** delivered to room 1225, alongside a steaming bowl of  _ katsudon _ lays a card tucked into a traditional bouquet of red roses: “congratulations”

  


Yuuri, любовь моя,

Last night, you were quiet—solemn in the way you haven’t been since the Grand Prix Finals. I came out of the shower, and I found you sitting on the bed, where you looked up and suddenly said to me, “We need to talk.” I was frightened, so very frightened. Did you know that,  солнышко? It brought me back to that night when you decided that you were not enough for the both of us—when you bowed and thanked me as if I was nothing more than a stranger to you; when you had the nerve to ask me why I was crying because you could not believe that you were ever worth the time and love that I’ve given you. That hurt, and I haven’t completely forgiven you for that… Did you know that, Yuuri?

I suppose you did. I suppose you knew because suddenly the look on your face softened, and you reached out to me as if in apology.  _ "Vitya," _ you called unsurely—and please never hesitate, my love; have I ever mentioned how much I adore the sound of my name leaving your lips so dearly?—and of course, I immediately walked over. You looked so scared, Yuuri, but you held your arms open, so of course, I tackled you to the bed, climbed onto your hips, and tickled you until you were red with laughter because I will always come if you ask. I will always come if you need me, Yuuri. Did you know that as well, my darling?

When you said we needed to talk, I thought that it would be about your Nationals. You were so distracted in training today that I was afraid you were going to hurt yourself—you tend to fall when you have something in your mind. I thought that maybe it was because I would not be there to coach you. ~~Are you sure you~~ ~~I don’t have to~~ I remember Rostelecom very clearly, Yuuri. It was easily one of the worst nights of my life: leaving you in an unfamiliar country, waiting for the results of Makkachin’s surgery, waiting for the results of the competition, just waiting, waiting, and waiting. I have never felt so helpless. I never like feeling helpless, even moreso when it comes to you.

Sometimes, you have that dazed look in your eyes. Sometimes, you look like you are lost, as if you are not fully present in the moment, plunged half-deep into your thoughts before you step onto the ice, or after you give an interview. You had that look last night, Yuuri. And to be honest, I was feeling quite lost myself. So there I was,  солнышко, already preparing a mental speech about how well you were going to do and how much your country loves you when you suddenly flipped us over, and you hugged me, and you rested your chin against my chest.

You asked me how I was feeling.

Ah, look at me worrying about you worrying about me. You have no idea how relieved I felt to hear you say that, my darling. The pair of us. Just the two of us. If I could narrow down the world to just these moments, then I would, Yuuri. You asked me how I was feeling then, and I will tell you now what I said to you last night. I am happy, so irrevocably glad—simultaneously coaching and training and competing is and will probably be one of the hardest things I have ever done, but it is all so satisfying. I feel so alive, Yuuri, and I have not felt this much in such a long time.     

By the time you are reading this, I will surely be missing you. But it will all be worth it, won’t it, любовь моя?  By now, you will have surely won yourself a gold medal. By now, I will be preparing to debut my free skate. By now, I will be waiting for you to call and wish me luck—I’m going to need it; Yura has been a monster the entire season! By tomorrow, you will be on a flight back home.  

Home. You are a long way from home. By tomorrow, I will see you again in St. Petersburg with gold, Yuuri. What a long way we have come.

 

おめでとう! 

 

* * *

 

**five** —the paper, creased and worn with having been opened and folded an innumerable amount of times, remains hidden in the pocket of his suit:

 

Victor Nikiforov,

I first heard your name when I was six. My best friend proclaimed it like it was the words of a god, so I looked to where she was pointing and saw you there on the television screen. Do you know what that means, Victor? It means I have loved you since I was six. I have loved you for eighteen years, three countries, and the life of a dog, and I cannot imagine a life of not having known how to love you. On your love, I have found myself. And on my love, I promise you this: I will accept you wholeheartedly and unconditionally as you are, as Victor. I will stay close to you, I will bear your dreams with you, and I will hold onto you for all my days. I will give you gold until we are silver, until we are nothing but the dark ashes on the ground. 

_ Vitenka,  _ on my love, I promise to give you this: what is it that we call all that is on the ice?

愛している。

я тебя люблю.

I love you. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Translation notes (in order of appearance):
> 
> * солнышко (solnyshko) = little sun  
> * я тебя люблю (ya tebya lyubyu) = I love you  
> * золотце моё (zolotse moy) = my gold  
> * 勝生 勇利 = Katsuki Yuuri  
> * любовь моя (lyubov moya) = my love  
> * おめでとう (omedetou) = congratulations  
> * 愛してる (aishiteru) = I love you
> 
> Thanks for reading! I lurk in tumblr [here](http://theaveragepenguin.tumblr.com/).


End file.
